


Cold Nose, Warm Heart

by Lywinis



Series: One Shots -- Capsicoul [17]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Because Phil is in trouble and Steve is always there to help, I guess you can call this end of season AOS feels or something, M/M, because everyone is running around openly as SHIELD, it doesn't much matter, not exactly canon compliant, post - Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:32:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“All his life he tried to be a good person. Many times, however, he failed. For after all, he was only human. He wasn't a dog.” ― Charles M. Schulz</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Nose, Warm Heart

"That’s…Agent Coulson."

"It is," Nick said, looking at Steve as if he dared to question his sanity. "Loki’s Asgardian friend Amora was here. And she’s not polite to my agents."

"But…it’s a…"

"Saint Bernard, yes. I know." Nick sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Look. I just need someone to take him and I have a feeling he’ll behave for you instead of dragging poor Simmons down the hall. He saw bacon."

Phil whined, licking his chops and leaving behind a puddle of drool.

"He’s certainly friendly," Steve said, as Phil nosed under his palm. He rubbed behind the soft ears and looked into the big sad eyes of the Saint. "All right. What should I feed him?"

"SHIELD is doing its best to not let him eat dog chow," Nick said. "There’s an all meat substitute, with vitamins added in at the front counter. Comes in tubes. They’ll supply you for the duration of the spell. Don’t let him have bacon. It’s bad for his cholesterol."

"How…how long is this supposed to last?" Steve asked. Phil chuffed, a large pink tongue licking his nose.

"As long as it takes to find Loki. Or even Amora."

Steve looked at Phil. “Well, I suppose you’re coming home with me.”

* * *

It only took one day to figure out that this was not going to work.

"Phil, get down off the bed," Steve said. Phil rolled over, his tongue lolling out in an approximation of canine laughter so profound that Steve had to sigh. "You are the worst. Literal worst. Get  _down._ ”

Phil whined, but he rolled over and off the bed, bellying over to Steve with his head on his paws.

"Oh, don’t—don’t do that," Steve sighed, kneeling and ruffling his ears. "Come on, I didn’t mean it."

Phil whined, looking up with sad eyes.

Steve sighed again. “You’re a little heartbreaker, you know that?”

Phil whined again.

"Okay. Tell you what. Let’s go for a jog. Would you like that?"

Phil perked, the tone of voice definitely something he liked.

"How about it? You want to go for walkies?"

Phil stopped looking excited the second the word ‘walkies’ left Steve’s mouth. He sat down on his haunches and gave Steve the sternest, most no nonsense look, that Steve had to laugh.

"Okay, message received. No baby talk. Still, let’s go for a jog." Phil barked, his hind end wiggling, and brought back his leash in his mouth. Steve kicked on his shoes, laughing, and away they went.

* * *

Central Park was beautiful this time of year, and Steve kept his pace easy for Phil. (While Saints weren’t generally made for running, it seemed Phil was the exception to the rule.)

Which meant that they were still tearing around the park at a pretty good clip, Phil’s large body and long legs able to keep pace with Steve pretty well. Steve made sure they stopped frequently for water, and they were almost mobbed by children at one point. A bunch of kids by the playground ran over and Steve readied himself to lift Phil up and out of the way, but the Saint just laid down on his side and let the kids poke and prod them as they would.

One little girl, about four, clung to his back when he stood up, and Phil played horsey for a moment, trotting her back to her mother, before returning to Steve’s side and sitting like a gentleman.

Steve figured out why a moment later.

"Oh, your dog is so  _sweet_ ,” a woman said and Steve gulped, keeping his eyes on her face. She was buxom, curvy, and wearing very little for the warm spring day. “Can I pet him?”

"Sure, he’s a complete gentleman, aren’t you, Phil?" Steve said, tugging the leash in warning. Phil gave him the most blase look he had ever received and padded over, laying on his back for the woman. She bent down to rub his tummy, and even Steve had to admit that was well played.

Phil’s back leg kicked as she scratched his chest, and Steve turned away, trying not to burst into laughter.

"He’s so friendly," she said. "Thank you for being so sweet, Phil. Your master’s not too bad, either."

She held out a slip of paper with a phone number on it.

"Call me if you want to go get coffee later," she said, smiling from under her lashes at Steve. "I love a man who takes such good care of his dog."

"Uh…thanks," Steve said, dumbfounded as he took the slip of paper. Phil looked at him expectantly as she walked away. Steve tossed the slip and looked at him. "No, I’m not getting you bacon for that performance. Nice try."

Phil sighed.

* * *

Steve tossed, sighing. The nightmare had hold, and while he was aware he was having a nightmare, he wasn’t able to wake himself up. He groaned, feeling the hot sting of tears as the water closed over his head. He saw Bucky’s face, beneath the water, and he reached out.

Bucky’s eyes were open and sightless, his hair drifting about him in a halo. Steve knew he wasn’t…but—

A whine startled him from sleep. Phil lay next to him, his nose pressed against Steve’s chest, and he looked at Steve with soulful eyes. Steve swiped at the tears running down his face and sighed.

"You never get used to the dreams," he confided in Phil. "Not ever."

Phil nosed right up into his neck, and Steve wrapped his arms around the large, furry body, taking comfort in the Saint’s warmth.

"You know you’re not supposed to be on the bed," he said. Phil chuffed, but Steve was already drifting off to sleep again, his face buried in the ruff of Phil’s fur.

* * *

"Therapy dog, huh?" Sam asked, stealing one of Steve’s fries. Steve swatted at his hand.

"Not really."

"You’d be surprised. Saint Bernards are great for therapy. They’re quiet and love their owners fiercely." Sam leaned down and fed a fry to Phil, who took it primly and swallowed it down. "You sure he’s not helping?"

"Well, the nightmares aren’t as bad," he admitted. "And Phil does help with the loneliness."

How many times this week had he curled up in front of the TV to sketch and found a large head on his hip as Phil lay down next to him?

"Then he’s helping. At least there’s that. So keep him around. It’s nice to see you smiling every once in a while that’s not you making an effort."

Steve blinked, and Phil got up. He stretched, a full body one, and shook, sending drool flying. Sam groaned.

"You get used to it," Steve said, handing Sam a napkin.

* * *

Steve grew used to the warmth in bed next to him at night, and he slept easier and easier. The nightmares didn’t go away entirely, but they did ease, and he could always pass his hand over a large square head and know things were going to be all right.

Until one day he woke up and Phil wasn’t in bed with him.

He sat up, standing and searching for the dog on the floor. Padding into the living room in his boxers, he didn’t see him there, either. The kitchen and his study was empty, and he didn’t realize what was wrong until he heard the snores from the bathroom. He opened the door, and Phil looked up from the coolness of the tiles.

"Don’t scare me like that, buddy," Steve said. Phil thumped his tail, and Steve sat next to him. "I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you."

Phil sighed and put his head on Steve’s leg. Steve was reminded that there was a human trapped in that furry body, and he felt guilty for even saying it.

* * *

"We think we can reverse the spell," Simmons said from the video screen. "Could you bring Agent Coulson in for some preliminary testing?"

"Sure," Steve said, running a hand over Phil’s head. "I’ll be there in a little bit."

The call ended and he stood, pulling his shoes on and feeling like he was wading through water. He sighed when Phil whined, and leaned down to clip his leash to his harness.

"Don’t even start that. You know we have to go. If they can fix you, you deserve a shot at being you again." Phil nudged his leg, and Steve knelt. "The last couple of months have been amazing, Phil. And that’s not going to change how I feel about you when you get back to normal. I just…won’t have to feed you and walk you anymore."

Or sleep in bed with him. Or have him with his head on his hip when Steve drew. Or have a jogging partner, even if he was a little slow.

Steve hugged the Saint around the neck. “I’m going to miss you.”

Phil whined and snuffled in his ear, making Steve blink hard.

"Come on, tests." The headed out the door, Phil’s tail down and between his legs.

* * *

"Feeling better, Agent Coulson?" Simmons asked, doing the last of her preliminary scans.

"Other than a fondness for squeaky balls I didn’t have before, I’m feeling much more like myself," Phil said dryly, his chest stretching the spare t-shirt they’d found when the test was successful.

Tony Stark’s theory that magic was just another form of energy had been correct, and they were able to tweak the spell to reverse it. Tony and Bruce were following the signature to track Amora down.

"Well, I’m glad we have you back, sir. To where your bark is worse than your bite." Simmons pinked and glanced down at her pad, but Phil just shook his head.

"I imagine that won’t be the only joke I get."

* * *

Steve sighed, his pencil tapping against his pad as he curled up on his couch alone. Phil had been cured, and he’d slipped away before he would have to make any embarrassing excuses. Now, he drew a Saint Bernard, and was filling in the freckles on his nose when a knock sounded at the door.

Steve swallowed, because the peephole told him it was Phil.

He opened the door. “Agent Coulson?”

"I think you’ve earned the right to call me Phil," he said, a little wry as he smiled at Steve. "May I come in?"

"Yes, please," Steve said, opening the door wider. Phil stepped in, and the line of his shoulders eased. Steve wanted it to be because it was familiar and home, but that wasn’t his to keep. He gestured Phil into the living room, and shuffled a bit. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No…thanks, though. I just came to talk." Steve nodded, scooting the dog bowls out of the way of Phil’s line of sight with a socked foot. He hadn’t bothered to pick them up, because…well, Phil was never coming back, it would be a nice reminder, right?

Or not. His shoulders tightened and he took a breath.

"What’s on your mind, Phil?"

"I wanted to thank you," he said. Steve blinked. "You took care of me. You didn’t have to. And I wasn’t…the easiest person to live with, maybe because I wasn’t a person at all. And I just…wanted to say thank you."

"You wanted to thank me for telling you to get the hell down off the bed and stop chewing the table?"

Phil blanched, glancing at the very obviously gnawed on table leg. “I’ll replace that.”

"You don’t have to. It’s a reminder you were here, for a little while."

It was Phil’s turn to blink, and Steve’s jaw flexed as his eyes slid away from the agent.

"Steve."

He brought his eyes up and Phil hadn’t moved. The man made stillness an art-form and he hadn’t realized how much he missed the solidness of Phil’s lines, the barrel chest that was better when not covered in fur but in a sleek fitted suit from a tailor. He swallowed.

"You made me feel less alone," he said. Phil rose, crossing the living room. "I told myself I wasn’t going to do this. I wasn’t going to get attached, but I  _missed you_. Again. You just…you died. And then you went away and now you’re back and I just—I miss you.”

Phil nodded, and wrapped his arms around Steve. Steve sagged, dropping his head to Phil’s shoulder, his hands spreading over Phil’s back.

"Will you…will you just stay, for a little bit?" he asked.

Phil looked up at him, a smile quirking his lips. “Of course.”

* * *

Steve nosed into Phil’s shoulder, and sighed, the warm morning sun making him want to get up, but the man beside him making him want to stay in. He wrapped his arms around Phil and the agent nosed into his neck like he used to.

Steve chuckled.

"Wasso funny," Phil mumbled.

"Thinking," Steve said.

"Wha’…" Phil was not an early riser when he didn’t have to be, this Steve knew.

"Just comparing before and after," he said softly, kissing Phil’s ear. "You shed less. But looking at your pillow, the drooling hasn’t stopped."

"You think you’re funny," Phil mumbled. "It’s not even seven in the morning and you think you’re funny. I hate you."

"No you don’t." Steve said, his voice almost a singsong.

"Might hate you less if you made me bacon for breakfast."

"It’s bad for your cholesterol."

"Dammit, Steve…"

Steve laughed and pulled Phil into a deeper kiss, one that made the man beside him go pliant and hum, the gentle argument gone like a sunbeam through the window.

"We should get a dog," Steve said.

"No."

**Author's Note:**

> Totalnerdatheart asked for Phil where he was transformed into a dog, but not a corgi. I do enjoy good old tropey tales, so this one is my hat thrown in the ring. I hope you enjoy, Constant Readers! More Douleur later, I promise. C:


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